


By The Time I Get Back

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [125]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Early Mornings, Multi, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 17:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15823752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Bucky and Tony want to sleep in. Steve does not.





	By The Time I Get Back

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Pillow fort. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

Bucky groaned and burrowed his head under his pillow. “Ugh. No. ‘M not gonna get up. Gonna stay in bed today.”

He felt Steve’s hand shift on his hip, felt it ease up the wind of his spine. “Fine with me,” Steve said, “but how’s your boss gonna feel about it?”

“Dunno. Don’t care.”

A rumpled grunt rose from the other side of the bed. “Your boss is good with it,” Tony mumbled, “as long as he gets to stay home, too.”

“Slackers. The both of you.”

“Shut up, he who never needs an alarm clock. You’re the freak of nature here, ok, not us.”

Steve laughed, which honestly just proved Tony’s point. Who laughed at 5:30 in the morning of their own free fucking will? “Yes, dear. I love you too, dear.”

The bed dipped as Steve leaned over Bucky's body. He heard their mouths meet, heard Tony sigh, heard the happy noise Steve made when Tony kissed him back.

“And you,” Steve said over the pillow, somewhere near Bucky’s ear. He kissed Bucky’s shoulder, the base of his throat. “Love you, Buck. Glad you're home.”

“Mmph,” Bucky managed. “Ok.”

A chuckle. “Going for a run. You all better be up by the time I get back.”

The bed creaked, the door closed, and at last, all was blessedly quiet in their bedroom again.

“Masochist,” Tony muttered. He turned over and scooted closer, his knee brushing Bucky’s calf, his palm swallowing an elbow. “Running for fun. What the hell is wrong with him? Better question: what the hell is wrong with us, being with somebody who's that consciously out of his mind?”

“Shut up,” Bucky said. “I’m trying to sleep.”

And he was, mostly, but there was also no denying that part of him was awake, awake and determined to rise to the occasion no matter how tired Bucky was, how much of his brain was still on Tokyo time. Or was it Beijing? God, he hated jet lag.

He turned his hips into the sheets and ignored it. If he just ignored the damn thing, it’d go away. It was Tony’s fault, curling up so close, smelling so good somehow, like clean sweat and that ridiculous cologne Steve had bought him as a joke but that worked on Tony’s skin like a charm, lingered, made Bucky want to bury his face against Tony’s neck and breathe him in.

Crap.

It didn’t help that he’d basically passed out the night before as soon as he came in the door; he remembered a shower, vaguely, a few bites of toast, a sip or two of cheap beer before passing out in the sheets. There’d been a kiss or five, of course there had, and they’d held him, pressed him between their chests and told him how much they’d missed him, how determined they were to take care of him now that he was home.

“We missed you,” Steve had said against his temple, those long, strong arms wound around him like the world’s cuddliest vine. “God, did we.”

Tony had nuzzled the back of Bucky’s neck, bitten gently at his ear. “Yeah,” he’d said, “but I’ve taken over your side of the bed. Just so you know. Gonna have to fight me to get it back.”

But then they’d led him go, stretched him out in clean sheets and left him to sink into the night.

Except now it was morning, or almost, and Tony’s fingers were on his breastbone engaged in a soft, sweeping search and Bucky was hard, morning wood mixed with _goddamn I’ve missed this_ and maybe if he kept his eyes closed, kept his head jammed under his pillow, he could pretend that he wasn’t, could keep Tony from seeing it, too.

And it might have worked, too, if Tony hadn’t chased his fingers with his tongue, hadn’t bent his head to Bucky’s chest and kissed the rough hair there, licked at the rosy arch of Bucky’s nipples.

“You can just lie there,” Tony said, hoarse. “Mmmm, lie there and don’t fucking move if you don’t want to. Just let me--”

He sucked at one nipple, fierce, then the other, the drag of his teeth like a match head, a red scratching fire, and it wasn’t a conscious thing, Bucky clutching his hair, Bucky’s nails catching his scalp, it wasn’t. It was that it’d been ages--fuck, almost two weeks--since either of them had touched him like this, teased him, hummed against his skin when he moaned and teased him again.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Tony’s voice was gravel, the scorch of hot sand. “Fuck yes, you do. God, look at you, baby. Big pretty dick and I haven’t even touched you yet, huh? Have I?”

Bucky knocked the pillow back and gasped at the cool air, at the way it stroked the sweat on his face; he hadn’t realized how hot it’d been under there, how flushed his face must have gotten, and the look in Tony’s eyes when they turned up to meet his, when Tony wormed his way up Bucky’s body and rubbed their mouths together, told him he wasn’t the only one in danger of overheating.

“Ok,” Tony said through a big, fuck-off grin. “Yeah, audience participation is good, too.”


End file.
